


Poetry

by kissmeimirish (spockoid31)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockoid31/pseuds/kissmeimirish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus and Dean are forced to leave the world of homophobic wizards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetry

Title: Poetry  
Author: kissmeimirish  
Rating: G  
Summary: Dean and Seamus are forced to leave the world of homophobic wizards.  
Notes: Slight relationship to "The Morning-Glory and the Rose." Maybe a small sequel? I dunno.  
Please R&amp;R!  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the poems quoted here.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I cannot let my lover go, though I am doomed to banishment..."

Seamus sighed and closed his book of poems. It wasn't exactly the best line to stumble across that particular day.  
Through the open window, he heard Dean rummaging around in their bedroom, packing up the last of his textbooks. He would only need them for the next four months, and then Dean would complete his Muggle course in art instruction. Whether or not Seamus would ever become a qualified Healer, though- that had been cast in doubt.  
It's funny that the only people who seem to be offended by your lifestyle are the only people who have some form of control over it- your parents, your teachers, your prospective employers. Seamus was fairly certain that even if he was a good enough actor to get people to believe that he *was* straight, his reputation had already been so badly trashed that it wasn't worth rescuing. And he had always hated telling a bare-faced lie.

"I cannot let my lover go.."

He would never give up Dean, not completely. Not even if he had to erase himself totally from Wizarding society, not if he had to sever his limbs, not even if he would die tomorrow because of his choice- Dean had always and would always be his best friend and lover.

"...though I am doomed to banishment..."

And here they were now, packing up what little they had left, ready to move away as soon as dawn broke the next morning. Seamus had gotten so worried an apologetic while folding the clothes that Dean had ordered him outside to calm down.  
It didn't seem fair that Dean was also being exiled, just because of his relation to Seamus, and though if would have torn the remnants of his heart to shreds, Seamus had suggested that Dean remain in the Wizarding world, just meeting in private. People would believe that "it was just a phase" if it came from Dean.  
But Dean would hear none of it, just lifted up his shirt to show Seamus the tattoo inked on his chest, the one identical to Seamus': a white morning-glory and a black rose, intertwined. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. They were together, for better or for worse.  
Dean was going to a Muggle college, one unconcerned with homophobic wizards, so in a few more months they should have a steady income, and that would help get things settled. Seamus had been exploring the Muggle workforce for the past six months, in anticipation for tomorrow, and had found two that looked promising. One was actually the first step to becoming a "doctor"- not quite a Healer, but close.  
Anyway-they would still have their wands, and they could still do magic away from the Muggles, just it wouldn't be quite the same.  
But he was happy that they were leaving, underneath it all. It was painful, yes, but he wanted for them to be free.  
Dean shut the front door of their little college softly and sat down beside Seamus, slipping his thin arm around Seamus' warm body. They leaned into each other slightly, supporting each others weight, and watched the sun go down.

"So joyously I lift myself above  
The life I buried in hot flames to-day.  
The flames themselves are dead; and I can range  
Alone through the untarnish'd sky I love,  
And I trust myself, as from the grave I may,  
To the enchanting miracles of change."  
-Michael Field


End file.
